


Billet Doux

by imogenbynight



Series: Après [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sam Finds Out, canon!verse, follows on directly after après
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imogenbynight/pseuds/imogenbynight
Summary: Castiel and Dean arrive back in the US, and Sam learns a thing or two.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to deathbycoldopen, lefthalfoflancelot, elizabethrobertajones, lawsontl, naomigower, thayerkerbasy, and a few kind anons whose encouragement over the last couple of days helped me regain the confidence to post this damn thing. I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.
> 
> Extra thanks to deathbycoldopen for helping me with a particularly stubborn moment.
> 
> Extra extra thanks to purgatoryjar, who has created [this](http://purgatoryjar.tumblr.com/post/151093925227) utterly gorgeous art for Après.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this little coda for a three year old fic! Can't believe it's been that long, to be honest :o

Somewhere over Maine, the plane begins to shake, and Castiel uncaps his pen to begin a new list in his notebook. A list of terrible things. Things that he’s certain will be the bane of his new existence as a regular person.

Dean’s cheek settles against his shoulder as he writes, and Castiel feels a huff of air against his chest when he starts laughing.

“What?” he asks, and Dean reaches out to trace over the words on the page. Castiel looks down at them and tries not to smirk.

“ _Flying, air travel, being on this damn plane_ ,” Dean reads aloud. “We can’t both be afraid of flying, Cas. You’re supposed to be, y’know... reasonable. Keep me sane.”

“I’m not _afraid_ of flying,” Castiel lies, even as the plane dips again and makes his stomach flip in panic. “I just hate it.”

Dean snorts, sliding his fingers between Castiel’s. It’s nice until Castiel realizes it was just a trick to take his pen away. He lets out an indignant sound that Dean ignores as he flips back through the pages to the list of good things and scrawls something along the bottom. When he moves his hand, Castiel reads his addition with narrowed eyes, fighting off the smile that tries to force it’s way onto his face.

“We would never fit,” he says.

“Yeah, probably not,” Dean agrees.

“It would be incredibly unhygienic.”

“True.”

“The woman in the seat near the door already glared at me when I tripped on her blanket three hours ago. She’d likely say something if we tried to go into the restroom together.”

“Oh, she’d call the attendant, for sure.”

“You didn’t even want to take your seatbelt off to let me walk past,” Castiel says, eyes narrowing further. Dean’s expression is amused and cocky when Castiel looks at him. “You have no intention of ever doing this. Why did you put it on my list?”

Dean crosses out the words _in an airplane bathroom_ , leaving the first half of the sentence untouched. Castiel doesn’t object--he should have added _that_ to the list two days ago--but he’s still baffled by Dean writing it down at all.

“Thinking about it got your mind off the turbulence, right?” Dean says, but his good humor is abruptly wiped away when the plane lurches again. The seatbelt light flashes overhead, and the pilot’s now-familiar-voice announces that they’re in for “a few more bumps” before things even out again.

Dean straightens in his seat. Castiel shoves his notebook into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him and follows suit. For the remaining hours of the flight, they sit in tense silence, waiting for the turbulence to stop. It doesn’t happen until they’re over Missouri. 

Castiel has just started to relax when there’s a clunk and a whir from somewhere underfoot. He tightens his hand around Dean’s without meaning to.

“That’s just the landing gear,” Dean assures him, speaking for the first time in hours.

Despite his words, Dean’s eyes are still tightly closed. He doesn’t open them until they touch down with a jolt, the plane shuddering as it decelerates. Close to half an hour later, they’re still sitting on the plane. 

It’s getting stuffy, and somewhere a few seats back, a small boy has started to cry. The man sitting directly in front of Castiel keeps casting a pursed-lipped frown back at the boy’s parents and muttering to his seatmate as though he thinks the tired child is making a fuss just to annoy him. Castiel wishes simultaneously for the ability to soothe the boy and to remove the unpleasant man from the plane.

Though, if he’s truly wishing for anyone to be removed from the plane, it’s himself and Dean.

The last few hours of the flight have left Castiel’s skin oily and his eyes uncomfortably dry. He runs his tongue over his teeth and scrunches his nose in displeasure at the slightly fuzzy feeling.

He’s been human for four days, but already he can tell that the maintenance of his body is going to grate on his nerves. Brushing his teeth, washing his hair, scrubbing his skin. They all feel pleasant enough while he’s doing them, and he certainly sees the purpose and appeal of all three, but in this moment, when he’s incapable of doing any of them while desperately needing to, he can only think of how filthy his body has become.

He _needs_ to get off this plane, if only so he can wash his face in the airport bathroom.

“How long does this usually take?” he asks Dean.

“Depends.”

Castiel stretches his neck from side to side until he feels a satisfying pop, then reaches for his water bottle. It’s empty. He holds it upside down and frowns.

“Planes, man,” Dean grouses, leaning out into the aisle to look toward the doors, which are still closed. “They suck even when they’re not moving.”

+++++

The line at passport control moves slowly, and Castiel watches with increasing apprehension as a man a few dozen people ahead gets into a heated argument with one of the officials. 

As Dean had explained on their way to the airport in Paris, getting caught with fake passports would land them in a world of trouble that he’s not entirely sure they’d be able to get out of. The thought of being detained now, after everything, is absurdly frightening. He’ll have no good answers for their questions, and he’s certain that if they really start digging, they’re going to find footage from the year he’d been twisted by the toxic power of the Leviathan. He’ll end up imprisoned.

Castiel’s stomach is in knots. His palms sweat. He rubs them dry against his jeans.

“Do we have a plan if they don’t--” he starts, cutting himself off when Dean lifts a hand to squeeze his shoulder. A glance around tells him why: a sour-faced woman standing directly behind them is openly staring, and the chances of her overhearing when she’s so obviously focused on them are too high to risk.

“We’ll be fine,” Dean replies quietly. The line shuffles forward, and Dean clears his throat before he speaks again. “So, um... speaking of things we shouldn’t panic about. I was thinking I’d talk to Sam tonight.”

Castiel looks at him in surprise.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, too casual. “I figure I’ll catch him after dinner. That way he’s got the night to get used to it, y’know?”

“You don’t have to rush,” Castiel assures him. “I know you’re nervous--”

Dean snorts.

“That’s one word for it.”

“So wait until it isn’t so daunting.”

“If I wait I’ll never tell him. Better to just do it now. He’ll be cool. I mean, he might be shocked at first, but... I dunno. He’s my pain-in-the-ass kid brother, but he’s not a dick, y’know? He’s not gonna freak out, so I shouldn’t freak out.”

Dean’s voice seems to lose confidence as he speaks, and he glances at Castiel.

“Right?”

“Right,” Castiel agrees.

“Next!” a raspy voice calls out. Castiel looks up to find that they’re at the front of the line. Dean makes eye contact with the official first.

“You’ll be fine,” Dean whispers, squeezing his shoulder again before he goes. Castiel is still watching him when he hears another loud “Next!” and he makes his way over to another counter.

The woman at the counter holds out her hand for his passport, and once she has it she looks Castiel up and down. He tries not to fidget under her gaze.

“Welcome back, Mr. Constantine,” she says finally, handing it back. Castiel thanks her and follows Dean toward the sign marked CUSTOMS, glancing at him sidelong when he notices him chuckling under his breath.

“Why are you laughing?”

“ _Mr Constantine_.”

“I still don’t understand why you would suggest a name only to laugh at it every time I have to use it.”

“It was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just make it...” he trails off, realizing the reason why Dean hadn’t offered the name _Winchester_ as he speaks. He’d assumed while Louise was putting the passport together that she’d give him the same last name as Dean, if only for convenience should one of them end up detained or in hospital, and had been confused by the different name Dean suggested. But now he realizes the significance of a shared name, and thinks himself foolish for not understanding sooner.

Still, Dean stops walking and frowns at him.

“To make it what?”

Castiel shakes his head, painfully aware of his face growing red. Evidently, that’s enough to tip Dean off. Dean scrunches his nose. 

“It seemed... I dunno. Like jumping the gun, kinda? I mean, we only just figured this out, and--”

“You don’t need to explain,” Castiel tells him. “Though I would like an explanation of why the name _Constantine_ is so amusing to you.”

Dean looks relieved.

“Next time we see a comic book store, I’ll show you.”

With all their things wedged into Dean’s carry on bag, they walk right by as the rest of their flight’s passengers head for the baggage carousel. Castiel tugs at the bag slung over Dean’s shoulder when he sees the sign for a restroom. He points toward it.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Trust me Cas, you’re not gonna feel right until you’ve had a good long shower.”

“A shower sounds _very_ nice,” Castiel says, acutely aware of the way his lips twitch at the corners as he speaks. 

He can’t help it; the memory of the long shower they’d shared in Paris before they left for the airport is still fresh in his mind, and at Dean’s words his mind replays perfect moments. The soothing feeling of Dean’s hands in his hair. The way Dean had let Castiel push him against the tiled wall and stroke him to completion under the stream of hot water. Dean’s giddy laughter when his knees had given out and made him slide halfway to the floor, dragging Castiel with him. He clears his throat and looks back over at Dean, who’s watching him with interest.

“But brushing my teeth will do for now.”

Dean snorts.

“You’ve gotta work on your poker face, man. I could tell exactly what you were thinking about just now.”

“I doubt you could tell the specifics. My thoughts were rather detailed.”

Dean just looks at him, a lopsided smile slowly spreading over his face as his eyes glint with mischief. Castiel could get used to that look. He says as much, and Dean’s smile is beatific.

“I’ve created a monster.”

Castiel just lifts one shoulder and heads toward the restroom. He doesn’t look to see if Dean is following, but when he reaches the sink Dean is right beside him, digging the bathroom bag out of his duffel.

The fluorescent lights flicker overhead as they brush their teeth, side by side. Castiel steps to the out of the way to let an elderly man wash his hands, bumping into Dean in the process, and Dean catches his eye in the mirror. He smiles at Castiel around his toothbrush. It makes Castiel’s heart pound.

He’s beautiful, even like this; tired and unshaven with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Castiel wants desperately to kiss him, but settles for watching him in the mirror instead. He tracks his movements as Dean rinses the toothbrush and wipes his mouth clean, losing track of his own task.

“Y’know, the faster you finish up here, the faster we can get home,” Dean points out.

“Uh-huh,” Castiel says through his own mouthful of toothpaste.

Dean laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges, and glances around the empty bathroom before he steps a little closer.

“If you liked the shower in Paris, just wait until I introduce you to the water pressure in the bunker,” he says, and Castiel lets out a startled yelp when Dean delivers an unexpected pinch to the back of his thigh. “I’ll meet you outside.”

A few minutes later, Castiel finds Dean leaning against the wall, cellphone in hand. He’s smiling at something in a quiet kind of way, as though he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. When he notices Castiel, his cheeks grow pink. Castiel’s desire to kiss him just keeps rising. 

Once they meet Sam, they have a four hour drive ahead of them. Even if Dean’s conversation with Sam is a short one, it’s going to be at least five hours before they’re alone again. He’s not certain he can wait that long.

“Ready to go?” Dean asks, taking his duffel back.

“Just one thing first.” 

Castiel steps right into his space, leaning in, and Dean freezes. He’s apprehensive, Castiel realizes. Afraid. 

He backs away to meet Dean’s eye.

“I apologize. I was going to kiss you, but if you’re not comfortable--”

Somehow, the words manage to make Dean look even more afraid. He cuts Castiel off with a kiss anyway, pulling him in by the collar and holding him close. When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest their foreheads together.

“Sorry,” Dean says. He sounds breathless. Nervous. “It’s just... this isn’t the most progressive city, y’know?”

The staring woman from the passport line suddenly makes sense.

“I didn’t realize. I won’t--”

Dean moves away to meet his eye.

“Hey, no, it’s.... look. Anyone has a problem, I’ll kick their ass. You can kiss me anytime you want, okay? Just maybe not in front of Sam until I talk to him.”

Castiel smiles.

“I gathered that much on my own,” he says.

+++

Sam’s impossible to miss. In the throng of people waiting by the arrivals gate, Sam stands a full head and shoulders over everyone else. Still, he waves when he sees them, his arm sweeping wide in the air above his head as though he thinks they might struggle to find him without it. Dean snorts and leans closer to Cas to speak into his ear.

“Does he seriously think we don’t see him?”

Castiel doesn’t have time to respond before Sam is right in front of them. He’s expecting the hug. He’s not expecting to be lifted partially off his feet in the process.

Dean’s laughter is infectious.

“It’s good to see you too, Sam,” Castiel says with humor when his feet are back on solid ground. He means it. The last time Castiel saw Sam, he looked exhausted and sickly. Even his soul was sallow and pitted. 

Castiel may not be able to see his soul now, but he can still see a marked difference in his demeanor. Sam is standing tall, his eyes bright and happy. It’s a relief to see. Castiel hadn’t realized that he’d still been worried about him, even with Dean’s assurance that Sam was okay.

Sam claps him firmly on the shoulder, grinning as he leads them outside. 

Overhead, the cloudless sky seems to stretch on forever. The light has a different quality here, Castiel thinks. He wonders at how that never would have occurred to him before, though as an angel he’s certain he’d have been able to pinpoint the specific differences in the atmosphere that make the sky seem brighter.

“You had us worried for a minute there, Cas,” Sam says as they walk, looking back at him over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Castiel assures him. “But how are you feeling? Dean didn’t exactly explain _how_ you survived, though obviously you’re doing well.”

Sam gives Dean a pointed look.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I told him you were okay,” Dean says, though he’s grimacing. “The specifics didn’t come up.”

“You were there for days!”

“We were busy.”

Castiel has to bite his own cheek to force his smile down.

“Well, basically, it was Crowley,” Sam says.

Castiel doesn’t need to force the smile down anymore. It’s gone of it’s own accord.

“What did he do?”

“Well... he’s still got all his powers, and he’s not _human_ , exactly--” Sam starts.

“Just close enough to be _slightly_ less of a douche,” Dean cuts in, and Sam makes a vague gesture of agreement.

“So he offered me a deal. Said he’d cure me if we swore not to kill him. You included.”

“Ever?” Castiel feels oddly let down by the thought.

“We can’t lift a finger against him without sending me back to death’s door, and he can’t hurt us either,” Sam says.

“But we’re under no obligation to help if someone else decides to hurt him,” Dean adds. “So... that’s a win.”

“I must admit, I’m disappointed that I’ll never have another chance to punch him in the face, but it’s infinitely preferable to the alternative. I’m glad you’re alright, Sam.”

Beside him, Dean snorts. Sam smirks.

“You might not say that when we get back. Crowley’s still at the bunker. Said he needed to lay low for a few days until he can return to Hell without having someone try to power play him while he’s compromised, and we figured--”

“ _You_ figured,” Dean says.

Sam rolls his eyes.

“I figured it was in our best interest to stop anyone else from taking over downstairs. Better the devil you know, right?”

“How’s that been working out so far?” Dean wonders aloud.

“Kevin hasn’t left his room since Friday.”

It doesn’t escape Castiel’s notice that Dean is further away from him than he’s become accustomed to as they continue their long walk to the car, but he doesn’t dwell on it. From what Dean said earlier, Castiel expected a little distance until Dean has had a chance to talk to Sam. Still, he finds himself craving Dean’s touch.

When the Impala comes into view and Sam is distracted digging through his pocket for the keys, Castiel slows his pace and takes the chance to briefly touch Dean’s fingers. Dean meets his eye and smiles.

“You want to drive?” Sam asks, looking up.

Dean pulls his hand away to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Nah, you go ahead. I hardly got any sleep before the flight.”

“Awake all night panicking?” Sam guesses, and looks at Cas. “I hope he didn’t get you all worked up, too.”

Castiel presses his lips together.

“To be honest, I think it was a joint effort.”

Dean lets out a choking sound that Castiel suspects began it’s life as a bout of startled laughter, and Sam looks between them with a raised brow before appearing to decide he doesn’t want to know. He turns to unlock the car. Dean jabs Castiel in the arm with his knuckle.

“You’re gonna pay for that later,” he whispers, grinning.

Castiel just returns the smile and climbs into the back seat. 

As soon as he’s inside, the familiar scent of the Impala soothes something in him that he didn’t realize was still aching. The timeworn leather is soft under his fingers. He touches it carefully, smiling when Sam turns the ignition and loud music starts to play. 

The engine makes the seat rumble. Castiel can’t help but think of a cat’s happy purr.

“I missed this car,” he says.

Dean turns in his seat to wink.

“Knew there was a reason I liked you.”

+++

Castiel catches himself nodding off to sleep a half dozen times before they’ve even crossed the state line into Kansas. Each time, he startles awake, sitting up with a jolt.

“I can turn the music down,” Sam offers.

“That’s alri--”

He yawns halfway through the word, and Dean pops the cassette out of the player to change it for something quieter. Castiel vaguely recognizes it as the same song they’d heard at Foucault Brasserie, though in English this time. He smiles as his eyes slip closed again.

“Get some sleep, Cas,” Dean says.

He drifts for a while, barely skimming the surface of sleep, but when he opens his eyes again the clock on the Impala’s dashboard tells him it’s been three hours. He blinks owlishly, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up straighter.

“Better?” Dean asks.

Castiel meets his eye in the mirror and finds Dean smiling.

“Much,” he says. “Are we almost there?”

Something about the question makes both brothers laugh.

“Not even human a week and he’s already in the _are-we-there-yet_ phase,” Sam says.

“Don’t make him turn this car around, Cas,” Dean jokes back.

“I just woke up,” Castiel says. “Can you at least wait until I’m fully cognizant before you start making jokes I don’t understand?”

His complaint just makes them laugh harder, and Dean reaches back to pat Castiel’s knee. It’s an innocent enough touch, but he lets his hand linger for a moment. Castiel fights the urge to cover it with his own. He’s still staring at Dean’s fingers when Sam speaks.

“Another one.”

Pulling his gaze away from Dean’s hand, Castiel looks to see what Sam is talking about and feels his mouth go dry. In the center of the road ahead, a magnolia has burst through the asphalt. It’s branches are weighed down with pink and white flowers, and a ribbon of yellow caution tape circles the trunk. One end flaps in the breeze.

“There’ve been a few of those around since the angels fell,” Sam says, a question in his tone as he glances back at Castiel. Dean scowls at Sam in such a way that Castiel is certain he’d told Sam not to mention them.

“Grace,” Castiel says anyway. “The others fell like Anna.”

“Oh.”

Sam’s brow furrows, and he glances over at Dean, whose downcast gaze is directed at his own hands, now folded in his lap. Castiel watches as he rubs one thumb over the other. He wishes it were his own.

Sam follows the traffic as it weaves to avoid the tree, and once they pass Castiel twists in his seat to watch it shrink behind them.

He wonders whose grace this tree sprung from; which fallen brother or sister it represents.

When he finally turns back around, he finds Dean watching him from the passenger seat with concern. Dean opens his mouth to speak, then seems to catch himself and looks at Sam instead.

“Hey, take the next exit.”

“We’re not that far from the bunker.”

“Just do it,” Dean tells him. “There’s that burger place opposite the gas station. I need to reintroduce my tastebuds to American cheese.”

Sam opens his mouth as if to argue, but Dean sends him a sharp look that stops him. Castiel doesn’t miss the way they both look back at him before Sam flicks on the indicator and changes lanes.

+++

The restaurant looks closed from the outside, the windows dusty and dark. Castiel eyes the building warily as they walk over from the car.

“Are you sure it’s open?”

“It always looks like this,” Dean assures him. “The burgers are amazing. Trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.”

Dean looks down at his feet, almost bashful, and Castiel has the thought that if he didn’t already love Dean, seeing him look this way would surely tip him over the edge.

They’re almost at the door when Dean stops walking, putting out a hand to stop Castiel too. Sam looks back at them with a wrinkled brow.

“Why don’t you go ahead and get a table?” Dean says.

Sam looks between them.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just gotta talk to Cas for a minute. We’re right behind you.”

Sam looks contrite as he nods and slips through the door, and then they’re alone.

“Something’s bothering you,” Dean says.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cas, c’mon.”

Castiel turns to look back toward the road. From here, he can see a jacaranda sticking up through broken pavement. As he watches, a few of the flowers loose themselves and fall to the ground.

Dean’s hand on his shoulder brings him back.

“Cas, look at me.”

“I don’t wish to burden you,” he admits.

“Good thing that’s impossible, then,” Dean says. He squeezes Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s about the other angels, right? The tree in the road?”

Castiel sighs, resigned.

“I saw some in Tarsacq,” he admits. “Flowers and vines and saplings growing in odd places where grace hit the earth. I didn’t notice any in Paris, but with everything that happened while we were there I... I forgot. How could I just forget?”

“And now you feel guilty,” Dean guesses.

“I feel selfish. I’ve been so happy this past couple of days, and they’re all… it’s because of me, and they’re--”

“Hey.”

Dean’s hand is on his cheek, then, thumb soft on the skin under his eye.

“First off, what happened is on Metatron. Not you. And anyway, it’s not like they’re dead, right? They’re all gonna be born. They’re all gonna _live_. That has to count for something.” Dean smiles at him. “Anyway, you’re allowed to be happy, Cas. Hell, you deserve to be happy.”

“So do you.”

“Uh-uh,” Dean laughs. “Don’t try to flip this around on me, buddy. We’re focusing on you now. So tell me, what can I do? What do you need?”

Castiel has no idea. 

Dean studies him for a long moment before taking his hand and backing up, pulling Castiel toward the restaurant door.

“C’mon. Let’s start with something to eat.”

There’s a hint of trepidation in his expression, and Castiel has no doubt about his meaning in taking Castiel’s hand right now. As nervous as Dean is about telling Sam, he’s willing to walk inside like this, just so that he can comfort Castiel freely. It makes Castiel’s chest ache, but he doesn’t want Dean to do this if he’s not truly ready. He stops walking.

“Dean, are you sure you’re--”

The rest of his question is lost when Dean kisses him. It’s gentle and sweet, his fingers soft on Castiel’s jaw. He pulls away too soon, ducking back in for one last brief press of lips before giving Castiel a shaky smile.

“I told you already. I don’t want to hide this. I--” he closes his eyes, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. His jaw flexes. When he opens his eyes again, his expression is determined. “I love you, Cas. So damn much. And I’m sure as hell not gonna hide it when you need me. So.”

“Dean, I--”

A sharp intake of breath cuts him short, and he looks over Dean’s shoulder to find Sam standing by the restaurant’s door. He’s wide-eyed, and he gapes for a second before he appears to force his face to relax. Dean’s shoulders go tense under Castiel’s hands.

“Is that Sam?” he asks quietly.

Castiel just nods, and Dean closes his eyes for a moment before he turns to face his brother, slipping his fingers down Castiel’s arm to weave their hands back together. Sam opens his mouth to speak, then abruptly closes it.

“This is exactly what it looks like,” Dean says after a drawn out pause.

“Oh-- uh. Okay,” Sam says.

“Is this gonna be weird?”

“No,” Sam says quickly, then scrunches his nose. “Okay, maybe _kinda_ weird. But not in a bad way. Just...”

Sam looks between them, and Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand. Castiel squeezes back. He’s amazed by how much the gentle pressure helps, how grounding it is. He hopes that Dean agrees.

“Honestly, it’s gonna take some getting used to seeing you guys not holding back,” Sam says finally. “It’s kinda been hell dealing with you.”

Castiel tilts his head to the side, trying to figure out if there’s a way to interpret Sam’s words that doesn’t suggest he knew all along. Dean just flat out asks him.

“Are you seriously telling us you knew?”

“Well, I mean... I knew there was _something_. I don’t know. Remember when we thought Cas was stuck in Purgatory, and you started seeing him everywhere?”

A glance at Dean tells Castiel that he’s incredibly embarrassed by this revelation, and Castiel ducks his own head with a smile as Sam goes on.

“Or Cas, when you were fighting off the Leviathan, and Dean was like, the only thing you were paying attention to.”

“How did you know that?” Castiel asks.

“Bobby told me,” Sam says.

Now, Castiel understands why Dean was embarrassed. The idea that Bobby had seen something in Castiel and discussed it with Sam is more than a little mortifying, and he wonders how many other times he’s made himself obvious.

“Or!” Sam exclaims, and Castiel looks back up to find him with one oddly triumphant finger raised in the air. “Back at the airport when Dean said he didn’t get any sleep last night, and you--” Sam blinks, and his expression shifts to one of slow-dawning horror. Castiel feels his cheeks growing hot. “Actually, y’know what? If you confirm what I think I just figured out, I won’t be able to look at either one of you for a week,” Sam’s mouth twitches, and he points over his shoulder with his thumb. “So I’ll just meet you guys inside.”

Sam heads back into the restaurant without another word, and Dean slumps sideways into Castiel. He lets out a weak-sounding laugh against his shoulder.

“I kinda want to scream.”

It’s an odd reaction, in Castiel’s opinion. He tilts his head to study Dean, trying to understand why he should scream and why he’s laughing if that’s how he feels. Straightening back up, Dean catches the look on his face and shrugs.

“I’ve been scared to tell him for fucking ever, and he _knew_. He already...” Dean huffs and gestures vaguely before turning back to Castiel. “Forget it. This is good. This is like, best case scenario.”

“It is,” Castiel agrees, and can’t help but return Dean’s smile the moment it appears. It only makes Dean smile wider. “I’d like to try one of those anytime kisses now, if that’s alright with you.”

Dean’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink, and Castiel can’t wait another moment. Dean chases his lips when he tries to pull away.

“We should go inside,” Castiel tells him.

“Mm, in a minute,” Dean says, hand warm on Castiel’s side. “What were you going to say before?”

“When?”

“Before Sam came outside. You were about to say something.”

 _Oh_ , Castiel thinks. He can’t help but tease him.

“I can’t remember. What were we talking about?”

Dean just lifts his brow.

“Well, I said...” Dean prompts, lifting his brow.

“You said?”

“I said I love you, Cas, don’t be an ass,” Dean laughs.

“Ah,” Castiel says, and spreads his palm over the center of Dean’s chest as he leans close, lips brushing over his ear. “ _Olani hoath ol_.” 

The Enochian is low and rough, and Dean’s chest rises under Castiel’s palm as he takes a shaky breath. Castiel is certain he’ll never tire of making Dean react this way with nothing but words. He brushes his lips over Dean’s cheek.

“ _Nakupenda_.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean practically whines his name, and it’s nothing if not incentive to keep going.

“ _Je t'aime_ ,” Cas tells him. “ _Le ni meleth_. _Minä rakastan sinua_.”

Distantly, he hears someone whistle in their direction. He pays them no attention, pressing his lips to Dean’s skin and telling him again and again.

“ _Aku cinta kamu_. _Mi amas vin_. _Tiako ianao_. ”

“How have you not run out of languages yet?” Dean laughs breathlessly, and Castiel kisses him again, humming thoughtfully against Dean’s lips before he pulls away to meet his eye.

“Even when I do,” he says, cupping Dean’s jaw in his palm, “I will _never_ run out of ways to say I love you.”

It’s a long, long while before they head inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Hats off to anyone who caught the easter egg...
> 
> And while you're still reading: guess what? 
> 
> It's not over! A third (final) instalment of the Après series is coming _very_ soon--I just needed to get these little scenes out of the way first, as the sequel is set a few years down the track :)


End file.
